(The War of the Ember Crown, 97 years ago)
The sky over Solstice Bastion was afire.
Not with sunrise — but with siege.
The heavens cracked as a column of flame surged through the clouds, splitting the barrier wards and reducing the outer citadels to molten rubble. The once-proud banners of the Celestial Vanguard burned midair, replaced by smoke and falling stars.
In the heart of the capital, a young flamebearer sprinted through the crumbling sanctum, her armor singed, her breathing heavy.
Lyra.
Seventeen.
Unproven.
Terrified.
And yet — she didn't stop.
"Lyra!" shouted a voice behind her.
She turned to see Kaelen, older by only a few years but already a legend in training. He leapt over a falling column, landing beside her as the sky thundered.
"They've broken the third ward," he said, sword still dripping with flame "The Ember Crown's at the gate. Serian's leading the charge himself."
Lyra's heart clenched "The Council said he wouldn't—"
"The Council's dead," Kaelen snapped "It's us now."
The streets were a battlefield of memory and fire.
Civilians screamed.
Defenders fell.
And overhead, floating on wings of living flame, Serian descended like a god of judgment. His cloak trailed embers, his crown pulsed with shifting light — and behind him, the Ash Choir began to sing.
Not a melody.
A curse.
Buildings cracked under the weight of the sound. The stone wept. The skies dimmed.
Lyra could barely breathe as Serian landed before her and Kaelen.
He looked different then.
No throne.
No generals.
Only fury.
"Stand aside," Serian said, his voice as calm as a knife slipping between ribs.
Kaelen raised his blade "You betrayed everything we stood for."
"I evolved," Serian replied.
Lyra stepped forward, trembling, her hands aglow with unstable flame "You taught me to protect, not destroy."
He looked at her, something ancient and pained flickering behind his eyes.
"I taught you truth," he said quietly "You just weren't ready to hear it."
And then, he attacked.
It was not a duel.
It was a reckoning.
Kaelen held the line with a fury born of heartbreak, his sword meeting Serian's burning will. Lyra tried to conjure a barrier, but it cracked with every blow exchanged between mentor and protégé.
"You think this will stop me?" Serian roared, driving Kaelen back.
"It'll slow you," Kaelen hissed, bloodied but standing.
Lyra screamed, pouring every ounce of raw flame she had into a final blast.
It struck Serian's chest.
And for a moment — just a moment — he faltered.
He stared at her.
And then vanished in a vortex of fire and laughter.
The Ash Choir retreated. The realm was left broken. Victory came, but it was hollow.
Later that night, in the ruins of the bastion, Lyra sat beside Kaelen as healers worked on him.
"We won," she said, voice hollow.
"No," he whispered "We survived."
Above them, the sky shimmered faintly — the last pulse of the fallen barrier flickering like a dying star.
It was the end of one age.
And the beginning of her legend.